Innate Darkness
by Gerriel
Summary: When Roel saw an opening for escape, he'd be a fool not to take it. However, that costed his life, forcing him into a deal for salvation — but with a catch: He'd have to live as a Pokemon. Against his wishes, he was thrusted into a world unknown, where in the brink of helplessness, he was took in by a trainer whom he share challenges with as he learns to adapt to his new reality.
1. Chapter 1: Contract

It was a cold, dark and rainy night. The splashes of water resounded along the forested road. Roel lumbered through the muddy path with a bleeding gash in his chest. His breathing became shorter and his body grew weary. The ground was ever so tempting for laying and rest, but the pursuers on his tail made him think otherwise.

"These mud trails are fresh," a patrol called out. "We can't lose him."

The sound of marching became closer by the second. Fortunately, the heavy rain made it harder to see at a distance. Their coming jolted Roel awake and forced him to go off-road. He pushed through the shrubs in hope they would lose trail.

Just when he saw a glimpse of those men, he ducked under cover. The patrol wasted no time looking around and continued jogging along the muddy path, putting full trust on their tracking Mightyena in the pursuit. Roel heaved a sigh of relief when they disappeared into the distance.

Even though he was fortunate enough to have rain covering his tracks, he figured his luck had run dry. It was becoming far too cold that shiver trembled his legs. He needed to find shelter from the rain, but he doubted he could ever find a roof in the middle of the woods to sit under. The path was no longer a choice. It would be crawling with men by now.

He had no choice but delve deeper into the forestry in hope that he would stumble upon another road leading to a town or village, somewhere. Maybe it was just wishful thinking because luck surely won't come twice, he thought. His reserve was dry.

The blood loss took its toll. He found it was hard to focus and think, as if a thick fog clouded his mind. Combined with the pelting rain, he had trouble seeing where he was going. His legs gained heft. He was on the brink of fainting when he snagged his foot on an overgrown root before plunging headfirst into mud.

"C-crap…" he muttered to himself. When he thought things couldn't get any better, he looked up and saw a cave. Immediately, he tried to get back up and dart for shelter only to fall back down due to the weakness in his legs. Not being able to walk, let alone limp, he dragged himself to the opening of the cave. He just hoped that there were no predators lurking about.

Once he scuffled under the rocky ceiling, he leant his back against the wall. His shirt was all tattered from a face-off with a Scyther. The guardsmen thought it was funny forcing him into a cage with a green insectoid. He was left with nothing to combat his adversary, no weapons nor shields against the Pokemon's razor-sharp scythes. The only reason why he was shoved into the same cage was because he got into a 'disagreement' with one of the guards. With a body riddled with cuts and grazes, look at what his pride had gotten himself into.

There was a gash, one that penetrated deep into his chest that oozed red. It was the result of his foolish recklessness. He was too haughty – admittedly acquired through picking fights he shouldn't have – that he confronted a knife. After sustaining a chest wound, he managed to escape – but just barely.

Roel coughed blood. Despite putting pressure on his wound, the bleeding wasn't receding. The rain washed most of the red staining his shirt. A sharp iron scent permeated the air. He needed urgent medical care but with the storm brewing up that seemed unlikely. He couldn't accept his fate after coming this far. If he won't die from hypothermia, then he will most likely die soaked in his own blood.

He chuckled at the thought. He had no plans for escape from that facility; the pain from all the needles and being beat up had grown on him. He may consider himself a masochist at that point, but when he saw an opportunity, he knew he had to take it. At least he won't spend his last hours staring at steel bars, or clogged-up toilets.

As blood gushed up his throat, his stomach dropped when he realized what he had coming. He thought one day he would get back at his captors for putting him through a year's worth of pain and suffering. A shame. The faint moonlight, the sound of rain, his bottled-up regrets; all eclipsed by the numbness throughout his body.

In the depths of darkness, he saw a light growing ever so brighter. It was a light so bright that it blinded him off his surroundings. It may be his time to go, he thought, not though he believed those cheesy anecdotes of seeing the light as death approach. It was funny how people revered a greater connotation to something grim and miserable.

As time fleeted by, the light was still there, unmoving, unwavering, as if studying him. He had a sneaking suspicion that the light wasn't just a figment of his deprived mind.

And he was right.

"You are hurt. All that pain and futility, how does it feel?" it spoke condescendingly.

Roel was surprised by the presence especially by the fact that it bore a voice, but amidst all that, he was offended by its act of being so high and mighty. Futility? It may be so, but there was no need to rub it in. It was his choice — he had accepted demise. If he wasn't crippled he would've punched whoever it was in the face, if it had one.

"Anger? Interesting," it remarked.

That made Roel grind his teeth. He had to admit it wasn't the first time he felt that. There were times when people practically begged for a knock behind their head – which he did let them have, despite the punishments he had coming. Roel found himself angry and infuriated, but not at the presence, but at those who betrayed him and made his life a living hell.

"Good. Focus on the hatred and pain that etched your soul," it praised. "You will… be useful."

Useful? Roel scoffed from thought. He wouldn't be very useful dying alone in a cold and damp cave out in nowhere. The only way he could be of benefit was to feed the ravenous wildlife with his rotting corpse.

The light had begun losing its divine appearance when it started glowing darker. He thought to have imagined it, or it was just a trick of his vision, but the brilliant shining moonlight, the wavering trees, the pitter-patter of the rain and the rocky walls soon disappeared as though suppressed by the dark entity at his fore. Roel shifted uncomfortably by the absence of light. He realized the presence may not have appeared out of good, but was motivated by malicious intent.

"We'll do a contract. A forced contract, per se," it announced sternly. "You will survive and live freely, but not as a human, yet seen as one."

How pompously patronizing. But, to be fair, if you had the power to control life would it be hard not to be? Regardless, to be bound by a so-called 'contract' and relinquish himself to another person's whim — his breakout would have been for nothing! His answer was already decided, but before he could vocally refuse, Roel coughed out a mouthful of blood.

Suddenly, a sharp pain penetrated his skull. He found it hard to think, breathe, or move his limbs. He felt as if he was turned inside out and all his bones were crushed. All of his five senses were drowned by continuous, piercing noise. Every time he tried to think and calm himself from shock, he found himself more wrathful, as if it was deliberate.

Not that it mattered, his consciousness was drifting away. He felt glad that it was almost over. He was already under a tremendous amount of strain.

Eventually, he slumped unconscious onto the cold, hard surface.


	2. Chapter 2: Transposition

Forenote: "Quotes" for speech, _italics_ for inner monologue, and finally _"quote italics"_ for speech in a certain other language. I'm practicing my writing skills so feedbacks are welcome!

* * *

The light was shining brightly into Roel's eyes in his half-awake state. He couldn't see past the overhead lamp and his eyes hurt like hell. It took him awhile for his pupils to adjust, yet he couldn't figure out where he was. He wasn't sure of what had happened before he came to.

"Get me a bag of substitute, stat!" a voice penetrated through the veil of numbness.

_A bag… of what?_ Roel thought. He found it hard to focus and kept becoming distracted by light and noises. He saw faint silhouettes of people surrounding him as he laid on a bed. One of the blurred figures shone a flashlight in his eye, causing him to wince.

"Slightly dilated," a voice reported. "We're losing pressure. Prepare a dose of norepinephrine. Get me a syringe."

_… Syringe._

Of the many thoughts going through his mind, the word 'syringe' was the most prevalent, echoing with great intensity. Fresh in his mind was the experience of needles stabbing him. Skin cut and sewn together. Implants drilled into his bone. Apparatuses strapped on his limbs, head and torso. He had escaped, hadn't he? Unless…

Roel snapped. He felt an overwhelming urge to get away. Immediately, he swooped his arm, crashing trays of tools and carts all over the floor.

"Hold down the arms!" The doctors tried to restrain him but they were quickly overwhelmed when Roel wrested his hand over the other side, toppling them over the bed. He rolled over and quickly made a run to the exit, ripping off the wires and tubes stuck to his body.

The doors slammed open, revealing a white corridor themed with a low hum of the fluorescent lights cascading overhead. He dashed as fast as his legs could carry despite both weighing heavier with each step. Suddenly, someone crossed his path. He wasn't able to stop in time and crashed into him.

Roel scrambled all over the floor and tried to get up to resume his flee, but he was restrained by the passerby now grabbing his arm. As the march of footsteps grew louder, he was becoming desperate. Roel tightly grabbed him by the neck and clenched his fist.

"P-please, no!"

Roel hesitated. That was not the voice he expected. Just as his vision cleared and his senses focused, he realized that he was strangling a boy by the neck, and that the boy's eyes were watering from fear.

Before Roel could utter a word, he felt a prick on his arm. He started feeling lightheaded and the world spun around him.

As he let loose of the boy's neck, he noticed an oddity. Maybe it was because of the drugs he had in his system but he swore he saw something strange — a feature nobody should have.

_Claws?_ he thought to himself.

Just before he could think of an explanation, he dropped on the floor unconscious.

* * *

Roel woke up with a pounding headache. It was probably due to the medication he was given before he was knocked out cold. He had the strangest dream. Claws for digits? It almost felt real. He reached for his temples and massaged the migraine away.

His fingers dug deep into his hair. Strange. Had he always had that much hair?

He pulled out his hand and stared at it in disbelief. It was real. Instead of fingers, he had claws. He had dark gray fur running the length of his arms. Strands of red hair loped his red claws. His forearms didn't look like it was his, yet it moved if he willed it so.

He jolted up immediately, almost falling off the bed. He frisked his arms, his neck, and basically every part of his body that he could reach. Any semblance of his own self was gone, or could be very well hidden. However, unless you could somehow fabricate extra joints, he doubted that.

Roel heard a thud, then feeling his ears — which were placed far back beyond his head — twitch with a mere hint of the sound. In addition, instead of clothes, he had dark gray fur covering his body, accentuated by a thick ruff on his neck which was darker than the rest of his fur. He also had a voluminous amount of spiked red mane that would be a nightmare to wash – all that tied near the end with a crystal ball.

Regardless, he wasn't dreaming. No matter how hard he tried to hit himself, he wasn't waking up from the terribly lucid dream. With every passing moment, with every pulse of his veins, with every twitch of his limbs, the cloak that shrouded his thoughts gradually unsheathed and the reality he was shoved into immediately became more realer than ever before.

He cursed at the presence that did this to him. _Why… how?_ In ways that he thought wasn't possible, somehow, he was turned into a Pokemon.

Is this even real? he questioned. He wanted to laugh. No way that this was real. It was too absurd. To wake up the next day as a different person— no, species? In retrospect, there was no way that he could make his current situation relatable.

He looked around the room, trying to adjust his sight. He couldn't make out the writings on the wall but he knew he wasn't in a hospital — at least not the human kind. It must be a Pokemon Centre.

_"Hiya!"_ A pitched voice called out. _"You're awake!"_

Roel jumped before looking to his side, seeing a small gray fox-like Pokemon with a tuft of red on its head. Its fluffy tail was swishing wildly. "Are you feeling better?"

Roel was surprised. _"Wait, you — a Zorua — you can talk?"_ He was even more surprised with the words coming out of his mouth. It was more of a growl.

The Zorua looked at him confusedly. _"What do you mean? You're weird."_ He realized that it wasn't that it spoke, but the meaning of its barks and yips were somehow clear to him.

Roel stared at it in disbelief, having trouble accepting that somehow, overnight, he was able to talk to a Pokemon — notwithstanding understanding them. He twiddled his claws like he would do if he had fingers. The Zorua, expecting a reply, tilted its head.

_"You don't have to be worried about Milton. He's a bit shaken up. You sure did scare him. That is to be expected of my elder!"_ It spoke boastfully, grinning from ear to ear.

He guessed Milton must've been the boy who stopped him. Come to think of it, what Pokemon was he? It spoke of him being an elder so that must meant he was a—

"Zoroark, the Illusion Fox Pokemon. Bonds between these Pokémon are very strong. Stories say those who tried to catch Zoroark were trapped in an illusion and punished," appraised a robotic voice.

"Yikes! I guess that's off the table, huh?" said Milton jokingly. He approached Roel when the Zorua jumped on his shoulder. "Have you introduced yourself, Zoryn?"

The Zorua replied with a yip.

Milton looked like a late teenager, but given their age difference, Roel felt compelled to call him a boy. He wore a coat and slung a large rucksack while his boots were caked with mud. It doesn't seem like he stays in one place. To be honest, ever since the big push a lifetime ago, there seemed to be an influx of young travellers — not that it was a bad thing.

"Listen, Zoroark. I know you're eager to see your trainer," said Milton tactfully. He sighed. "But we found you two in bad shape. I'm sorry to say this but your trainer didn't make it."

_"… Trainer, who?"_ Roel blurted out. The boy looked wide-eyed. That was when Roel realized he could no longer speak words. His speech would only come out in growls and gnarls. With no foreseeable reply to his question, he could only assume that the trainer he was found with was him — his human self.

Under a dark, wet cave in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't an end he had in mind. He stifled a chuckle at being called a trainer when he had spent his last life behind bars. Him? A naive, carefree wanderlust hell-bent about training and battling with whoever he crossed? During his early days, maybe, but time had caught up to him. The trainer glanced at its Pokemon, having second thoughts about whether he should have handled it better.

Roel got up to his feet, almost falling over. He stood slightly hunched as he could no longer stand upright like he used to. It was more trouble than it was worth. Milton grabbed him before he could fall.

"You should rest. The nurses will care for you," he suggested, helping the distraught Zoroark back on the bed while carefully avoiding the wrappings on his chest wound. Roel thought it was nice not being manhandled after all the while. They sat silently for a while, where Roel was reluctant to start any conversation, while Milton and the Zorua watched over him. After a minute or so, the trainer broke the ice.

"So, Zoroark. Me and Zoryn were meaning to leave for the next town." They stared at each other before looking back at him. "I guess this is goodbye."

_"We'll meet again, I hope!"_ said Zoryn excitedly, but with a hint of sadness.

Even before Milton turned towards the exit, Roel was already feeling an overwhelming dread. He didn't know where to start and what to do next. Without realizing, he clawed the boy's jacket before he could walk away.

Milton turned around and sighed. "You don't have to worry. They'll release you once you healed enough."

His grip didn't loosen, but instead grew tighter. Zoryn hopped off his shoulder and landed on the bed beside Roel, then barking at its trainer right after. Milton felt his gears clicking into place. "You have nowhere to go, do you?"

Roel gave a slight nod.

Now he was a Pokemon, a Zoroark no less, what would he do? It was not like he could return back to his old life — or at least what was left of it. Would it mean returning to the woods, living his own life amongst wilderness?

"You could come with us if you'd like. I'm sure that will make Zoryn over there quite happy." Milton grinned as he handed him his hand.

Roel looked up in awe. He was at mercy, but yet he was treated kindly. He realized what he looked like: an animal — stripped of pride and dignity, existence weighing on scraps and pity. Despite that, being accepted left him a strange feeling. It was… relief? Maybe all he needed was another human to make him feel whole again; a step closer to his old self.

"Since we haven't found your Pokeball, you are wild — at least to them. They wouldn't release you until they find you fully healed. Unless…" Milton pulled out a red-and-white capsule from his bag pocket. "Well, I don't have any ideas, short of capturing you."

Roel stared at it hesitantly. He wasn't keen on being confined to a tiny ball — nobody would. Then there was a whole different idea of being captured that he would never face as a human. As a Pokemon, that meant that he was bound to his 'trainer' and in this case he will also have to obey a person half his age. It should be the opposite!

"You won't be forced to stay inside it, promise." Milton handed him the Pokeball for him to sniff. He felt somewhat offended by the savage treatment. "So I really hope you won't do what the 'Dex says you do, okay?"

_"We can prank Milton though. I do it every day,"_ jested Zoryn, giggling.

With the Pokeball in his hand, he sighed, which surprised Milton. Roel thought maybe he shouldn't overthink it. He pressed on the center of the ball, popping it open, enveloping him in blue light.

The ball fell on the floor, wobbled for a few seconds, and sure enough, it emitted a gentle ding signifying a successful capture.


End file.
